Waltzing Matilda
by DOTBF
Summary: En Route to the next mission, Scout gets injured and pissed off, and Sniper tries to fix it. T for language. Drabble. Sniper/Scout. Just fluffy stuff here. COMPLETE.


_**Author's Note:  
**I certainly hope this uploads properly since I haven't been around here in years. I just got into this fandom and fell in love with this ship, and this is my first shot at writing it, so please be gentle if I did something wrong. I gave it a few read throughs myself, but please also excuse any typos I may have missed._  
_Much love,_  
_DOTBF_

_... ... ... ..._

It was only after much cussing and struggling that the door to the motel room finally gave in and opened. The Sniper stood aside and hurried his companion along before turning back to dislodge the key. As he did this he called after the young man,

"Getcher' skinny ass inta' that bathroom before yeh' bleed all over the carpet an' they make me pay fer' that too...feckin' owner...scamming the shit out of erry' one in the bloody place..." he trailed off into grumbling and cussing as he continued to struggle with the door lock.

The Scout was already half way there, catching the blood from his nose in his good hand as he went (the other was useless and very much broken),

"The hell does it look like I'm goin', old man," he snapped, and there were at least a dozen more insults on the tip of his tongue that he wanted very much to use, but a nasty stab of pain shooting down his arm kept him from doing so. In lieu of this, Scout quickly disappeared into the bathroom and the sounds of him cursing and dropping things on the floor ensued.

After a spell, Sniper managed to dislodge the key. He pocketed it and moved a few things he'd brought with them out of his van into the room before shutting the door with a sound kick. He picked his way around the sparse furniture in the room to the bathroom door and stood in it. He frowned as he watched Scout lean over the sink, the blood from his nose dripping off his chin and running down the drain. The young man was struggling to undo the wraps on his hands with his teeth, and was generally failing and becoming more and more frustrated by the moment. Sniper heaved a rough sigh and strode up beside him,

"Ere' let me give yeh' a hand with that," he murmured and reached for Scout's wrist to undo the bandage. He wasn't expecting the latter to wrench it away, spattering the mirror with blood,

"I don't fucking need yer help!" He shouted, "Just go the fuck away! Leave me alone, dammit!"

It pained Sniper to see the young man looking like that, all hunched over, clutching at his right arm, bleeding all over himself and glaring him down with more venom than an angry adder. But he wasn't about to be spoken to like that, so he ground his teeth and shouted back,

"If yeh' didn't need my help you wouldn't be fumblin' to do that with yer' teeth an bleedin' all down yer' front!" As he spoke he grabbed a firm hold of Scout's shoulder and forcefully sat him down on the lid of the toilet. He then put his palm on the young man's forehead and tilted it back none too gently (though he did avoid the nasty blue and black mess that was spreading out from Scout's left eye),

"Pinch yer' fecking' nose and don't move," he growled. His companion looked absolutely livid about it, but silently did as he was told. Sniper brushed out of the bathroom, but returned a moment later with a spare towel he'd brought from the van (no sense dirtying up the motel ones and getting stuck with the bill for that too) and plopped it in Scout's lap. The latter bunched it up and pressed it to his face, though never once ceased his death glare. Sniper ignored it. He instead busied himself with unpacking the little first aid kit onto the counter.

Once the blood flow was at a minimum Sniper took back the towel that was flung at him, and assisted a none too compliant Scout in removing his hand wraps and shirt. After that he was promptly kicked out of the bathroom with more expletives than were really necessary.

Only when Scout was sure the older man wasn't still hovering outside, he ran the shower and stumbled out of the rest of his clothes, kicking them into a pile in the corner. He'd have to get rid of them; they were covered in enough blood to float a ship.

Still nursing his arm, he gingerly stepped into the shower and rested his forehead against the tile, allowing the water to just wash over him. Really, he couldn't believe his awful luck. The day had gone from bad to worse and trampled him in its haste to get there. As if it wasn't bad enough to be crammed in a stinky unairconditioned van all day, the one gas station where they stopped _would_ be the one he got into a fight at.

Oh, he'd won, he'd never admit the contrary. But at the price of a fair amount of blood and the continued function of his dominant hand. But three against one was cheating anyway. Sniper ought to have been impressed. Instead he mostly shouted about recklessness and doing dangerous things and basically everything _except_ being grateful that Scout had just decked out the three little shits who were plotting to steal the van. Yea, they got in a few good shots, but it wasn't like that was anything new, considering the line of work they both were in.

Apparently he'd been standing there awhile and not realized it because he jumped at the sharp knock on the door and Sniper's muffled voice that accompanied it,

"Listen, yeh' gonna be alright if I pop out for a bit?"

Scout glowered at that drain and didn't move when he spat his reply,

"I ain't gonna' fuckin' drown myself." he just barely heard the sigh from beyond the door,

"Alright...I know yer' mad at me, jus' try not to do any drowning out of spite."

He listened as his footfalls retreated and the door slammed shut. Well...at least he cared enough to acknowledge that Scout was angry at all. That was a start.

Sniper returned perhaps half an hour later, two pizzas and a bag of other snacks in hand (goodness knew Scout could eat through half of that with little effort). He noted that the shower was off, and the door was cracked to let the steam out. Though it worried him (perhaps needlessly) that he could hear no sound from within. He set the food down on the cheap, rickety motel dresser and crept up to the bathroom door. He knocked, and when he received little more than a grunt in reply, he let himself in.

He found Scout bent double on the edge of the tub, still dripping wet with no more than a towel about his waist. He could tell the young man's thin frame was trembling and at first Sniper thought it was the chill air coming in from outside the bathroom making the young man shiver. It took him a second to realize he was actually repressing the urge to cry.

Snatching a spare towel from the rack, Sniper moved in front of his companion and gently began drying the water from his hair. He knelt down on the floor as he did this, and spoke softly,

"What's all this about then? I know yeh' aren't cryin' over some bumps and bruises." He watched as Scout crinkled his brow, though the latter didn't look up when he spoke,

"It's been a shit day," he said in a hoarse whisper, "An' I fuckin' smashed my arm on the wall." He hadn't really smashed it...bumped it at best, but with broken bones even little things like that tended to hurt extra, just out of spite.

"The broken one?" Sniper asked softly,

"_No_, the one that _doesn't _hurt when you touch it. Of course the broken one." Scout hunched over further and bit his lip to keep back any fresh tears. He didn't want to appear quite so weak, but the way his luck was going was making it very difficult. He listened to Sniper sighing and watched out of the corners of his eyes the man moving to the counter where the first aid kit was still laid out,

"Let's getcha' patched up real quick so we can eat." the man murmured,

"Eat?" Scout echoed, looking up and between folds of the towel that was still draped over his head.

"Mm...Got some of that awful pizza yeh' like so much. N' some other stuff." Sniper paused, and noted with some relief that he could see a bit of a grin pulling at the corner's of Scout's mouth in the mirror, "An' its gettin' cold,"

The idea of real food (and not something out of a can like was usually dinner on the road) made Scout a bit more open to cooperation, and he allowed Sniper to stick fresh bandages all over him, and fashion a makeshift sling which kept his bad arm securely bent at the elbow, his hand resting at his shoulder. When Sniper slipped out briefly to fetch some ice from the tiny freezer in his van, Scout stumblingly got into a pair of pants (with some difficulty, such things are a bit challenging one-handed), then stood up to regard his reflection in the mirror.

He'd counted sixteen different bruises while he'd been in the shower, and according to Sniper there were a few more on his back as well. Not counting the nasty looking black eye he was sporting. Plus his lip was apparently split, though that didn't surprise him, he had taken a fist or two to the face. He was just happy all his teeth were still where they were supposed to be. He'd also come to the conclusion that something must have happened to his one ankle because putting too much weight on it rather hurt as well. All in all he was a mess. But what else was knew?

He looked up at the click of the door shutting and limped his way out of the bathroom. The allure of a full stomach and some sleep was more appealing than hating his life in front of the mirror. He plopped down on the edge of the bed (the only one in the room he noticed) and wearily watched Sniper wrapping the ice he'd fetched up in a hand towel. When it was offered to him, Scout pressed it to his eye and relief was instant. He lay back (carefully) and balanced the bag of ice on his brow so he could use his hand to keep the bad arm steady.

He kept his eyes closed and focused on the pleasant cold of the ice, but listened as Sniper walked by him and fussed with the contents of the bag of food. He felt the bed shift when the man sat down on it, and hoped very much when he heard the sound of a pop tab opening a can, that what it contained was beer. He could really go for some of that. The little television on the dresser fizzled into life and the evening news murmured through the static.

"Go on, then," Sniper said, sipping on his drink, "Eatcher' nasty fish pizza fore' it gets cold."

"S'not nasty, its fuckin delicious." Scout grumbled, sitting up and scooting over to the pizza box that was pushed towards him. He opened it and was very happy to discover it really did contain the anchovy and pineapple pizza, and it wasn't some crappy joke Sniper was trying to pull. He fished a piece out and immediately scarfed it down. He could hear Sniper chuckling at him from behind, but in lieu of the food he didn't really care. He also happily took the can of beer that was offered to him and downed most of that in a few gulps.

"Christ, yeh' eat like yeh' aren't gonna' see food again for weeks," Sniper said with a laugh, and another that he couldn't quite keep in his throat when Scout turned and shot him a glare (though it wasn't nearly as threatening with half a slice of pizza dangling from his mouth),

"Driving wif' you I might not," was the retort.

"I have plenty ah' food," Sniper said around another swig of beer, "I can't help it if yeh' won't eat it."

"That ain't food, its shit," Scout mumbled, though based on the lack of indignant response he guessed Sniper hadn't heard him. Which was fine, there was pizza to be eaten.

It was only after he'd picked through almost all of the pizza that Scout realized he was shivering. A bit of thought on the topic and it became clear that such things happen when you sit around in just a pair of pants in a drafty motel room without properly drying off out of the shower. Now that he thought of it, his hair was even still wet. He was going to be some help on base if he caught cold on top of a broken arm.

And then suddenly something very warm and cozy was wrapped around his shoulders. When the hood came down over his eyes he decided it was probably something of Sniper's, some jacket of his. It was certainly much too large to be anything Scout owned. He threaded his one arm through the sleeve and put the hood of the down in order to peer over his shoulder at the man who'd placed it there.

Sniper was propped up against the headboard smiling softly at him. There was something about that look that put butterflies in Scout's stomach...though now that he thought about it, that was entirely too girly sounding. Maybe it was just one butterfly... or two...definitely not more than five. Scout turned around and busied himself with pushing empty boxes and cans off the bed onto the floor where they'd be out of the way. He jumped when a hand knotted into the back of the jacket and tugged,

"C'mon over here fore' yeh turn into a popsicle. I can see yeh' shivering from all the way over here."

Scout fixed him with a wry look, but none the less scooted back to sit beside Sniper, and didn't complain when an arm was wrapped around him, drawing him close,

"Only cause I'm fuckin' freezing," he murmured, pointedly looking at the tv and not at Sniper. He could feel the rumble in the man's chest that gave away the laugh, but he didn't say anything. Now that he had a full stomach the fight was going out of him and he was thinking more and more about going to sleep, and not so much about when would be a good time to kick his companion in the shin and hurl obscenities at him.

"Feelin' better now?" Sniper murmured in Scout's ear, the mere sound of it sending shivers down the young man's back. In order to disguise this he nestled deeper into the warm of the jacket,

"Everything hurts...but at least I'm not hungry," he murmured back, noting the affectionate little squeeze of Sniper's hand on his shoulder.

"So yeh' want to tell me what this is all about, then?" the other man asked. It was becoming clear that neither of them were paying the slightest bit of attention to the tv. Scout frowned and glanced around the room,

"You didn't care when it was relevant, what's so different now?"

"Well fer' starters I'm pretty sure yer' not going to bleed out anymore and that's a load off my mind." Sniper said, and scratched at his stubble reflectively. "An' fer' another, yeh' gotta think of what it looked like fer' me...I leave for two minutes to get a feckin' candy bar and I come back and yer' collapsed on the ground bleedin' all over the damn place."

Scout had to admit he hadn't thought of that. Though he admitted it inwardly and didn't say anything until Sniper spoke again,

"Now if yeh' don't mind, I'm curious to know what was worth gettin' laid out on the ground over."

Scout sighed deeply and self consciously rubbed at his bad arm before spotting the ice pack he'd set aside and snatched that up, more to hide behind than to actually soothe the swelling of his eye,

"I was gettin' a soda from the machine outside," he started, his voice hardly above a whisper, "An' some little shits were hangin' around the side of the building, and I could hear em' talking. Fuckin'...I don't know why they had it out fer your van but one wanted to slash up the tires, and one wanted to light it on fire, and they finally decided, oh, lets just steal it! An' I couldn't fuckin' let em do that...I went around a corner and bashed some heads together and they ran off like the little fuckers they were."

"Parrently' not before messing you up nice and awful," Sniper muttered before falling quiet again. Scout wrinkled his nose,

"Yea thanks, I hadn't noticed that," he grumbled, fixing his gaze away from his companion. He knew if he actually looked at him all the anger he had left would evaporate and he'd spent so much time thinking of the words in the shower that he'd hate to waste the effort. Stubborn? Certainly not.

"So then, tell me," Sniper finally went on, trying very hard to catch Scout's gaze, "Why all the nastiness at me?"

"You didn't even _care_!" Scout retorted perhaps a bit too quickly, "Didn't give a flying _fuck_ what had just gone down, didn't ask me, just started throwing a shit fit! Crammed me in your van and started driving!"

"Now look here," Sniper said quickly, physically moving the young man so they faced one another (a flash of guilt crossed his face when the latter flinched and made a painful noise. Scout caught it but tried to ignore it), "Don't yeh' even _start_ that with me! Yeh' tell me right now, if I cared that little then why the _bloody hell_ did I rush yeh' here and patch yeh' up so fast, huh? I didn't have to buy this feckin' motel room. I coulda' stuck you in the back of the van with some bandaids and kept on goin'!"

Scout didn't have an answer for that. Thinking on it now, Sniper had been on a tirade about making good time to their next destination. Something about driving straight through the day so they'd finally get there in the middle of the night. He hadn't quite caught the reasoning for this, but the facts still stood. The young man couldn't do much else other than advert his eyes and frown. He listened to the rough sigh that escaped his companion and tried very hard not to be upset by it. His efforts weren't nearly as successful as he'd have hoped. Finally Scout deflated, curling into a little ball and burying his face in the crook of Sniper's arm.

The latter actually appeared startled by this, not quite expecting such a dramatic reaction. Their shouted arguments were a fairly common thing, and they never produced much else other than more shouting, and then some pointed silence at the end maybe, before they resumed conversation like normal. Upon later reflection he'd come to realize it was more a product of the stressful day rather than the argument itself. But in the moment Sniper felt absolutely awful to have provoked such a thing. He wrapped the young man tighter up in the half embrace,

"M' sorry...I didn't mean to shout," he whispered. He had meant to shout, but he felt like denying it would be the more comforting option. When no response was offered Sniper withdrew his arm and stiffly got to his feet,

"Ere', hold this for me, would'je?" he said, taking his hat and plopping it on Scout's head. It was entirely too large for the young man, and he made a small startled noise in his throat at the intrusion before peeking under the brim at Sniper. The latter fished among the junk food he'd bought before tossing a bag of candy at his companion.

"That's the junk yeh' like, right?" he said with the tiniest of grins, happy to catch the faintest glimpse of its counterpart on Scout's face as the latter picked up the bag and fumbled to open it. Sniper retook his seat and opened the bag before Scout could make a mess trying to open it with his teeth. He wrapped his arm around the young man again,

"Accept that as my apology?" he asked around a smirk. Scout glanced at him from beneath the hat (he was inwardly excited to be in possession of it, on normal occasions Sniper guarded it like it was his secret porn stash) and offered him the first genuine smile he'd had the whole day,

"Yea, alright. But only cause' of this," he tipped the brim of the hat up with one finger. Sniper grinned toothily at him,

"Oh, an' I'm sure the pile of nasty food you like didn't help at all, right?"

"Might've helped a little bit," Scout replied and shrugged one shoulder, trying not to smile too wide. That charade was quickly given up when his companion chuckled and leaned in to trace a line of kisses up the young man's neck and behind his ear. The latter withdrew from the not entirely unpleasant tickle mostly out of force of habit,

"Hey, cut that out!" was the halfhearted (and mostly unserious) protest, "You can't do that flirty crap, I'm an invalid!"

"What, che' think that get's yeh' out of it?" Sniper crooned, nipping the edge of the young man's ear and relishing the shiver it sent through him. His other arm had already found its way from around his companion's shoulder to around his hip, and the squirming it was causing was delicious. Sniper gave in when Scout finally lifted a hand (the only one in working order, in fact) to stop him,

"Seriously, I have a broken fuckin' arm here." Though saying this didn't stop him from blushing up to the tips of his ears. Sniper pretended to look put off,

"Aw, yeh' gotta let me do something," he teased, "What kind of awful bugger would I be if I weren't extra nice to yeh' after a shoddy day, hah?"

"Fine, you wanna do something?" Scout said with a wry grin, his expression giving away a bit more excitement than he probably wanted to. It gave way almost immediately to a particular sheepish look that Sniper knew very well.

"Wot?" he pressed, getting a little smile out of the young man,

"Nah, its silly," he evaded, shivering again when his companion's hand was suddenly affectionately stroking the nape of his neck.

"Can't be that bad," for this Sniper got a bit of an expectant look. Scout bit his lip before actually speaking, though he looked faintly embarrassed to actually say it, and turned his eyes away in order to actually get it out,

"Would you...uh...would you sing?" he asked, very, _very_ softly. Sniper couldn't help a surprised look. That had been the last thing he'd expected to hear,

"Wot? What even makes yeh' think I can sing worth a damn?" he said, very careful not to use his knee-jerk retort of calling it a crazy idea.

"When you get up in the morning to make coffee," Scout said quietly, "And you think I'm still asleep...I listen to you sing while you do it."

"What, that? That crummy humming?" Sniper said, his voice giving away the surprise that had been written on his face just before,

"I like it," Scout said a bit indignantly, "What's that one you always sing... something about dancing with some chick?"

"Wot?"

"You were singing it this morning!" the young man said, sounding a bit flustered, "Something, something...waltzing with some chick named Mathilda or some shit,"

"_Oh_. No, no, that in't what that's about at all. Christ." Sniper stifled a laugh into his hand, "_Waltzing Matilda _is whatcher' thinkin' of, right?"

"Yea, waltzing with Mathilda. Bout' dancing with er', and some fucker named Billy, an' some other guy, Tucker. I was listening."

Sniper couldn't quite keep it together enough to stop himself from laughing out loud. He could feel the glare Scout was shooting at him, but it didn't bother him enough to try to stop. He was subsequently smacked and swatted at.

"The fuck are you laughing at," Scout snarled at him, trying very hard to get out from beneath the man's arm, though Sniper was doing a good job of hanging on despite this. He instead settled on glaring off in the other direction and crossing his arms as best he could. He pointedly did not turn back around when the embrace tightened around his shoulders,

"Ay', don't go an' pout like that,"

"I'm not fuckin' pouting!" Scout shouted, using his one hand to clamp over his companion's face and push him away. The man was still shaking a bit from repressing his laughter, though he at least had the courtesy not to allow the sound to come out. He didn't resist Scout's hand either and simply peered at him through the gaps in the young man's fingers, grinning that _stupid_ charming grin of his. Scout dropped his hand,

"Yer' a goddamn asshole," he murmured, not really minding when his companion shifted back into place with his arm around him, "Ruin the whole fuckin' moment,"

"M' sorry," Sniper chuckled, "S'just that was so far off what the song is actually about. I had to laugh."

"What the hell does 'waltzing with Mathilda' mean to you, then!" Scout retorted, "You can't even try and tell me it ain't about dancin'. I'm not dumb, I know what a waltz is. An' I know Mathilda is a chick's name!"

Sniper chuckled,

"The whole thing is full of slang," he explained slowly, "Yeh' say waltzing, but what it means is goin' fer a walk. An' Matilda ain't no woman, its the...uh, backpack I guess, of this feller' whose travlin'. It ain't about dancin, its about some bum who drowns himself in a pond after he steals a sheep."

"You've gotta' be shittin' me," Scout said flatly. Sniper shook his head, reached up and tipped the brim of the hat down over the young man's eyes,

"Jus' listen," he said quietly, and took a moment to stare up at the ceiling and recall all the words. Once Scout had fixed the hat so he could see again, he settled himself and watched the man's face. Finally, Sniper took a deep breath and shut his eyes, and the sound of his singing voice sent chills up Scout's spine. It was just as gruff and faintly raspy as his speaking voice, but there was just something about hearing him sing. Maybe it was how soft and gentle it was, maybe it was the novelty of just hearing the man sing anything. Scout couldn't quite place what it was, and he'd never admit out loud how much he enjoyed it, but that certainly didn't change things,

"_Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong, Under the shade of a coolibah tree, And he sang as he watched and waited til his billy boiled, Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me?_"

As he paused to draw a breath, Scout couldn't help but slip in a question,

"What's a swagman?" Sniper appeared a bit startled by the intrusion and fumbled for the words before he could finally answer.

"Eh...s'like a hobo I guess,"

"An' why is he boiling Billy?" Scout asked before his companion could draw the breath to continue the song. The latter looked smug about this,

"Billy isn't no person," he said, "Its a can yeh' boil tea in. Do yeh' want me to finish this song, or what?"

"Sorry,"

The man took another moment to recollect himself before going on,

"_Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong, Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee. And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag, You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me._" He paused before the next part and whispered in Scout's ear, "Any questions?"

"Just do the fuckin' song, old man," There was a bit of laughter from the Sniper before he did so,

"_Up rode the squatter, mounted on his thoroughbred, Down came the troopers, one, two, three. Where's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag? You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me._"

As he paused for breath he did little more than cast Scout a questioning look, which was doubled, laced with sarcasm, and shot right back. The man grinned and turned his face toward the ceiling, shutting his eyes again and sang the last verse,

"_Up jumped the swagman and sprang into the billabong. You'll never catch me alive said he. And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong, Won't you come waltzing Matilda with me?_

_Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me. And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong. You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me._"

His voice died down and left the pair in silence. After a moment had passed, Sniper tilted his head and rested it against Scout's,

"Happy?" he whispered, and Scout couldn't help a shiver,

"Yea," he whispered back and nestled himself deeper into the man's embrace, breathing in the smell of his shirt. Coffee and cologne and a tiny bit of cigarette smoke. It was something uniquely Sniper's and Scout took a great deal of comfort in. Of course he'd never tell him such a thing, but he had the suspicion that the man already knew.

A period of silence passed between them, and Sniper took the remote from the bedside table and began idly flipping channels with it. It was very sleepy work to observe and Scout nearly dozed off once or twice. He was half napping, half day dreaming when Sniper's voice startled him awake again,

"Yeh' know yeh' really scared me today." He murmured, and an unpleasant guilty lump formed in Scout's stomach. It sounded suspiciously like the lecture his mother had given him as a child, though hearing it from Sniper made him significantly less angry and a fair bit sorrier. "I didn't know what to think," the man went on, "Yeh' just looked so fecked' up, yeh' were bleedin' all over and stumblin' around..."

"I know, I was there," Scout mumbled, Sniper went on as if he hadn't heard,

"I know yer' alright now, but I can't shake this worry. What if there'd been more'a them? What if yeh..." he paused to swallow painfully, "What if yeh' didn't fair as well as yeh' did today." He stopped and set his mouth in a hard line as he summoned up the words, "I think it'd damn near kill me if I had ta' endure that."

Scout turned his face down and hid behind the brim of Sniper's hat,

"I was just trying..."

"I know yeh' were," the man gave a reassuring squeeze to Scout's shoulder, "But yeh' can't just go pickin' fights like that off base. There ain't no resupply on the road. There ain't no Medic. Yeh' die out here, that's it. Yer' done."

"I'm sorry..." Scout breathed, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his forehead against them. He was so tired, so done with this day, he could just stay curled up there and never get up again. That's the funny thing about being hurt bad, it makes even the smallest of upsets seem twenty times as worse.

And then suddenly there was Sniper's hand, taking his chin and forcing their eyes to meet, pushing the hat out of the way and leaving room for the man to place a soft kiss on Scout's forehead. And faced with that, and the warm look on Sniper's face as he pulled away, that little almost-grin that twitched at the corner of the man's mouth...well really, what could Scout do but smile back?

It wasn't until late in the following day that the van finally pulled into base, caked in red dust from the dirt road through the desert to get there. The other mercenaries had been about most of the day already, setting up their equipment, claiming bedrooms, making sure every gun and axe was shined up and ready to go for the battle the next day. Somebody was already fixing dinner from what it smelled like, and even above the noise of the idling engine could be heard the ruckus of shouting and cussing that came standard with life on the base.

Sniper turned the key and the van spluttered into silence.

Scout did not move from his place where he'd propped himself up against the passenger side window. He gingerly held his bad arm by the elbow, only letting go for long enough to adjust his cap. He'd been napping on and off for the whole trip, and didn't quite want to leave that safety just yet. He vainly hoped that Sniper would realize this, and start the van back up and drive them back onto the highway where they could just ride along in silence. Except for occasionally when Sniper would think the young man was asleep and hum that familiar tune, singing it softly below his breath.

Sadly, Scout had no such luck.

"C'mon then," Sniper said, opening the door and stiffly sliding out of the driver's seat. He plodded around to the back of the van and opened the door into his living space, fishing out Scout's knapsack and a few things of his own.

He was unhappy about it, but the young man eased himself upright and kicked his door open, sliding out of the van and into the dust, careful to land on the foot that had not been giving him trouble. A cool breeze ghosted by, and Scout pulled the hood of Sniper's jacket up against it (he'd tried to get his own shirt on that morning, but it quickly became clear his one arm wasn't going to allow it), shivering a little in spite of his best efforts not to. He looked up when Sniper appeared beside him, taking his knapsack when it was offered to him,

"Let's go find where Doc's gotten im'self to," the man said, "See if he can't patch yeh' up better'n I can."

Scout hummed his soft agreement and fell into limping step beside Sniper. He chewed his lip reflectively as they walked before something occurred to him,

"Hey, Snipes," he said, continuing after he'd received the gruff _mm_ noise that meant the latter had heard him and wished him to continue, "Yer' not gonna tell anybody what happened, are you?"

"Wot? That'che got beat up defending the van?" Scout nodded, "Neh', far's I'm concerned I wasn't there, I can't tell the story if I wanted to." he shot a knowing grin down at the young man, who cracked one of his own,

"Good, cause I ain't tellin anybody that story." he said, "Gonna' be a big bar fight, took on twenty guys single handedly. Owned every one of em' except the cheating fuckwad that started smashin' bottles."

"Sounds believable," Sniper said with a laugh. Scout mimicked it,

"Doesn't have to be believable, long as they don't ask what _really_ went down, right Snipes? Cause' I ain't tellin. An' you better not either!"

"Alright, alright, I'm sworn to secrecy." the man replied, lifting a hand and ruffling his companion's hair through the cap. They turned the corner down the hall towards where the Medic was busily arranging vials in his new office. Sniper gave Scout a soft playful shove in that direction, "Go on an' get fixed up, I'm goin' to see what Engie's cookin' that smells so great."

Scout shot him a rude gesture and a grin as he continued down the hall,

"Just don't eat it all, ya' fatass."

Sniper took a minute to watch him go.

Theirs certainly was a unique relationship. Though it was one he valued quite deeply and he wasn't about to change it for a thing.


End file.
